


Phantom Pains

by R_S



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Amputation, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Care and Attention, Erotic Flashbacks, Graphic Description of Injury with Illness, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Tension, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-26 17:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5014393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_S/pseuds/R_S
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Yonko, Red Hair Captain Shanks comes to East Blue for one reason, and one reason only. He leaves, a changed man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Naming Day

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own One Piece. All rights belong to Oda.

Yasopp’s got his head in his hand, messy mud-blonde hair sticking out from between his fingers. He’s being watchful of the rolling sea, and there’s nothing going on but some noisy bastard seagulls. Been a long time now, since he thunked on elbow down on the oak rail and started drinking. It’s a clear day, so the young sniper can see for miles. Miles and miles over open East Blue waters. The island at their back is pretty small, only a few streets with a pretty packed market, Town Hall, couple of officials that look pretty ex-marine if he’d had to guess. None of them gave trouble when they docked. Seems to be that something more important was going on in town than arrival of new Yonko Shanks and crew. 

Of course, that was luck – always looking out for them. 

“Still need another five hands to work the spindle.” Lucky Roo leans on the railing next to his newest nakama, and Yasopp is aware of splitting tinders deep inside the beam. The big man, Roo, always had a hunk of meat in his hand. Ate at it all the time. Night and day. Yasopp had never seen a man eat the way Roo did. Of course, he’d never met quiet a man like any of the rest of the Red Hair Pirates until they landed on his lonely little stretch of beach; all dried up, and without a ship.

Salted spray touches Yasopp’s stubby nose, brought in from a gust to starboard. The man says nothing for a moment, lost for a moment of pause. Sunset was important to a man of the sea, he always thought. If there was no time for a man to appreciate the sun’s fall into bed, then there would be no flavor in the next day’s meal would that he awoke again in the same world. Yasopp’s eyes squint to protect their inner corneas from potential damage of looking slightly-to-the-side-of-the-sun. In this way he observed; where the horizon line meets the sky, and the sun is slipping gently under the Blue, like a pale whale turning in the surf. 

“Do you want to go back and see them?” Roo asks, beefy fingers wrapping ‘round the neck of the whiskey bottle Yasopp’s nearly let fall into the hungry sea. 

The Red Hair’s newest member’s got his mouth halfway open, when he considers. Even though he’s drunk… because he is… very much so… Even so, he considers. “No.” he says, bending forwards on the rail.

Shanking his head, Lucky Roo’s got a smile on his cheeks. Cheeks all pinked up under his red-lensed goggles. The big man takes a long drink, knocking one thick elbow into his nakama’s slighter one as he settles on the rail of their new ship. “You thought up a good name for ‘er yet?” he asks, sloshing ale over the rail. 

Yasopp doesn’t turn to Roo, because the sun is still setting. Because sunsets last until twilight, and after twilight, is actual night. “I have.” Mutters the sniper without turning. 

“Well?” asks his shipmate, kicking back a few more swallows of hot liquor. 

Yasopp’s eyes fall closed, and he turns. Taking in a great breath of air, Yasopp’s shoulders put back just slightly – enough to relax the stance he had taken in his observing of nightcome. Her name will be “Red Force”.


	2. Unwanted Responsibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own One Piece. All credit belongs to Oda.

It’s not even an hour past breakfast, and already this new crew is beginning to look like more trouble than they were worth. The trouble was; the smelly, illiterate rats were worth quite a lot. Invaluable, one might go so far as to say. Of course, Benn Beckman would not be a man who would be caught dead saying it.

“I want ten.” Growled their new Aftman Gunner. Benn had heard of this asshole they’d picked up at the Red Line Corral Station, lazy idiot who signs on for high priced ships. He gets marooned often, on some island, all over the four blues, whenever a crew gets sick of him. Then he does it all again…

“Can’t give you ten, friend.” The Red Hair First Mate replies in sour boredom. Every time was the same. Hire them on at two, then they suddenly want ten. Beli was thin on the ground in East Blue, what with Buggy dancing around. 

The idiot gunner reaches for a knife, paring forward between the galley tables towards the bar where Benn sat with his back towards him.

“Working for the Yonko, I want ten!”

Benn’s saved the bother of answering this idiot when his captain’s presence becomes tangible in the room. The first mate smiling into his drink. 

“Ten?” Shanks’ sultry voice preceded his appearance at the entryway between the lower galley and upper floors. Slipping inside, the Captain ignores his newly acquired Afthand for favor of staring at the hunched-forward back of the man with black hair at the bar. 

His first mate. 

The gunner’s for a moment silenced by Shanks’ arrival, but only for a short time. Steadily he regains his bravado. Blustering a few curses of Sea Kings and arrogance. “Never signed on to be a Yonko’s cannon fodder!”

The captain of the Red Force didn’t much care for this business of needing to have many people onboard, but it had become a necessity. Shanks had accepted that their ship, the one he and Benn had sailed for five whole years before Roo joined them, and after that another three. These last eight or so years. Ever since Roger changed his mind. When The Pirate King, Gol D Roger decided to step forward into public execution, rather than be drug slowly and painfully through the thorns of his disease….

“Are you fucking listening to me!?” 

It was instantaneous. Benn Beckman lowers the short rifle, lifting his glass with his free hand. Their Aft-gunner, what-was-his-name lies dead on the floor at Yonko Shanks’ feet. A bit of brain matter had gotten on the hem of the redheaded captain’s cotton trousers, and Shanks wipes it on wall beside the door before stepping carefully over the mess and up to the bar. “Who’s gonna clean that up, eh?” Shanks chuckles, reaching for a glass and booze.

Benn shrugs, allowing himself enough of a smile to uncover the very tips of his teeth. His face gives away neither his mood nor his desire thereof. Rough and pitted. A crisscrossing set of scars runs the length of Benn’s right cheek, fading into whiteness just before reaching his ear. 

Shanks pours three shots and hands one to Benn. He takes both remaining shots in either hand, smiling like a great big fool. The straw hat on Shanks’ head blares attention. Originally he’d hated it, Benn. Having to look at that bright yellow straw with its red band and frayed edges. Well, it only frayed if it wasn’t taken care of. Or if they were in dry places. Shanks took care of that old hat, and not because it was a duty. 

Benn knew. 

Pushing back from the bar, the first mate’s big shoulder slips under Shanks’ outstretched arm, and the raven haired man leaves out the Galley door. He’d left his drink behind, Shanks notices. Red Hair Shanks. He’s a Yonko now. For better or worse. It wasn’t expected, and it sure as hell wasn’t pleasant. Shanks found half the crew on his side, half on the other. He’d never seen them fight like that. Reighley stood at his side until the very end, when only a few were left standing. 

In the end Shanks took no one.  
He ran away to East Blue, and never looked back.

Of course that didn’t stop the world from making him one of the Four Yonkos on the Sea. So much for freedom. One shivering hand comes up to tightly woven straw husks, pressing the pads of his fingers into the old straw hat. Shanks lifts it from his head and weighs it. It’s so light. So light that he’s surprised he’s not lost the damn thing to the sea breeze long before how – or that Roger managed to keep it safe for all those years in the New World. 

He stares at it, because he half cannot believe it himself.  
Shanks places the hat back on his head, lowering the brim to hide his tears, even though he is – just then, very alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. No Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do no own One Piece. All rights belong to the brilliant Oda.

Benn gained the outside air, letting the galley door swing closed on its own behind him. He hears the metal catch ‘click*and*snick’ back into place. A reassuring sound. The first mate faces the sun, taking in a breath, reaching for his breast pocket where he carries a steady supply of rolled cigarillos. He pulls one out of its metal case, a long shaft of black wrappings. A bit of brown leaf is visible just at the end. Placing the rich flavor to his lips, Benn flicks his lighter to life and puts it to purpose. Gold, musky smoke fills his mouth, pulled into his lungs for only a moment before he’s expelling the pungent cloud through his nose. Benn has a few days of black stubble on his cheeks, getting a little bit longer for every second he’s outside on deck not dealing with it. Not that there’s a reason to get all gussied up. Benn contemplates, looking up into the azure half of the world above the Blue. 

East Blue was greener than North or West Blue. The air sweeter than South Blue, somehow. In East Blue, dolphins turn their silver bellies up towards the sun, calling to one another loudly, dorselled backs breaching foamy silver swells. 

Benn Beckman slips his lighter back into the pocket of his trousers. The cold metal against his thigh gradually getting warmer as he stand there. How the hell did he get here, anyway? He looks about himself, at the nameless, faceless sailors working the lines and cogs of this… this Galleon?! They gained a nakama and a ship that day. Yasopp could shoot a Tanuki's tail cleanly off at eight-hundred feet, and when he came screaming to the slope with his arms waiving in the air, yelling about a ship… 

Benn would never have believed he’d come so far with Shanks. For his dreams. Especially when Shanks didn’t seem to have a dream left in him when they did initially meet…

…the Day the Pirate King Died  
~~~~~~~~~~This is a flashback~~~~~~~~

The Grand Line ends at Fishman Island, they say – or at least that’s what Benn Beckman was told. Benn had been sailing a long time. He was quite looking forward to seeing the New World under Gol D Roger, the King of Pirates. Was looking forward to maybe someday joining up with the world’s best crew. He was one, of many, who had been caught surprised and horrified when the report of Public Execution came echoing over the Den-den Network. 

Benn was in Mirmaid’s Café when it happened. Sipping a seaweed special-blended something handed to him from some pretty mermaid, when he heard it. 

“My Treasures? You may have them! I left them all in that place.”

And then he was gone. The greatest pirate of this age. 

“Madam! Madam Shyarly!” Some young thing with lime green hair scoots across the clean floor, pink tale flashing shiny scales. A couple tough looking guys have appeared in the doorway, shuffling about and making one hell of a noise. 

“Get your useless ass inside, Shanks!” grunted a man with a tuft of blonde growing out of the top of his head.

“Be gentle with him, Marco. He’s not well.” 

“Donno why we have to deal with him. Let his fucking crew take care of him.” 

“Marco.” The big man standing beside the blond laid a hand down on his shoulder. A big man with a white mustache, upturned like half a moon. “The reason why we must take care of him, is because he has no crew.” 

Benn heard Marco curse again, distinctly hearing him say, “Really, Pops?!” before shoving at the limp limbs of a figure with red hair. The figure was awake, with his eyes open. Three bloodied lines running down the left side of his face. Fresh stitches peeking out of the swollen cuts. 

Shanks didn’t speak as he was manhandled across the tile floor and seated onto a spindly wire chair. Whitebeard and his First Division Commander Marco took it upon themselves to speak with the establishment owner, a Shortfin Mako Mermaid with long black-sea hair. They left Shanks alone at an empty table while they spoke, scooted away. Benn could hear everything they said, so he was pretty sure this redhead could hear also, however if he could, he wasn’t showing it. 

Shanks’ eyes were grey, wan; half closed and full of tears. Benn counted them slipping over eyelid and down chin. Following the gentle line of quivering lips. A small red trail gave definition to Shanks’ face, mixed with tears those lines were accentuated, and Benn’s heart physically ached to see this redhead reduced to such vacant sadness in the middle of a local café. 

“Shanks will need looking after, by someone.” 

“Old Man, if you are suggesting –”

“The boy is welcome to stay here for as long as he likes. There is no need to feel obligated for fear he will starve and waste away.” Glided the voice of Madam Shyarly. Her large eyes batted as strident teeth clicked on the edge of her cigarette holder. “It is a hard day for the world. Soon the days may get much harder. For Everyone.” She breathed, eyes cast away into a corner. 

“What was it?” Shanks muttered. Benn watched the movements of wet lips, tears spilling from red eyes. His voice just loud enough for the mermaid to hear, and she raised her chin. “What… what did it mean?” he asks. 

Shyarly’s enormous eyes fill with tears, and she looks away. “It means whatever you think it means.” Says the young mermaid. “This is your sea now.” 

Shanks’ fingers grip down into the weave of a straw hat he’d been clutching in his hands. There’s a blood-red band around the brow. Just a simple… hat.

The bell over the door *tinked and Silvers Rayleigh enters. He doesn’t see Benn tucked away in his isolated window seat, and turns the ‘open’ sign on the door to ‘closed’ before he’s turned and faced Captain Edward Newgate.

“Thank you, for looking after him.” Silvers’ voice trembles only slightly, and Whitebeard’s eye is caught by the twitch in his wrist. “I’ll see he’s –”

Rayleigh’s suddenly quiet, staring forward. Benn had seen this reaction on pirates before, after they’d lost everything. Their captain, their ship, their leg… something in the world that meant everything to them. The first mate of the Pirate King who’s been just this very hour put to death? Yea, chances were he had a lot on his mind. 

“Oiya! Oiya!” Marco snaps his fingers under Rayleigh’s nose a couple of times until the swordsman looks up. “You gonna be alright, old man?” Jibes the Mythical Zoan. “Neither one of you idiots should be on your own!” 

“Look who’s suggesting now.” Chortled Whitebeard.

“This is NOT funny, Pops!!” 

Marco’s flapping doesn’t flag the Strongest Man in the World, and he leaves the other three standing by the door. Walking towards Shanks with gentle footsteps for a man of such size and power. Whitebeard kneels next to Shanks, and he’s still head and torso above him. “Are you alright, Nephew?” asks the captain. 

Benn cannot remember the last time he had seen eyes so lost. So void. So… done. Shanks was hanging onto existence in this world by a very fine thread, a thread that could break, or had already broken and he’s just not noticed. 

Shanks’ head turns towards Newgate, his features slowly morphing into some sort of smile. Some sort, but not the sort that Benn would count as a smile. A smile meant that somewhere, deep deep down there might be a glimmer of mirth or contentment, or simple faith in living… just a simple smile. Shanks’ face held onto none of those ideals. None. No warmth, no life. 

No hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!


	4. When We First Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own One Piece. All of it belong to Oda! 
> 
> Please note: THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER IS FLASHBACK. Back to the Red Hawk in the next chapter. E\Please enjoy!!!!

It was decided rapidly. Whitebeard and Rayleigh left the Café to speak with the Queen. Marco left to half drag – half kick Shanks up the stairs and into a room Madam Shyarly rented. One of five rooms in the establishment available for overnight use. 

“If you would like to rent one of our rooms, Sir, they are two-hundred beli per night.” Explains the cheery waitress with butter-algae hair. She had been the girl that had first run for the Mako Mermaid. 

“I’d like to do that.” Benn reaches for his wallet and hands over two one-hundred notes. 

“Yes, Sir. I’ll speak to Madam, if you would wait here just a moment.” And off she scooted, hurrying through an arched doorway draped with pink shawls and bobbles. Beckman relaxing his back in his chair, hands limp on each knee as he’s gazing up towards the painted ceiling. Red hair… 

**Clunk.

Two pointy boots all lined with steel buckles appear on the tabletop next to Benn’s drink. “What are you doing here?” droned out a voice full of gravel, miniature gravel, but still gravel. 

Benn’s dark head turns, only slightly. “It’s a free sea, Dracule.” Bile rises to the back of his throat when the Greatest Swordsman in the World takes his leg down for favor of interlacing his fingers on the shiny surface. “What about you? It’s a momentous day, after all.” He’s gesturing at the Den-den projection behind the counter. “Or weren’t you invited?” 

Mihawk’s cheeks drained of color. An odd look on him, a sort of off-stone plum. “I didn’t know they’d be putting Roger to death… on the same day… he…” 

“Eh? What’s it matter so much to you? All lined up to be a Shichibukai, now you’re Best-in-the-World. You’ve never been a pirate.”

Someone might have thought Benn had hit the man in the face with the butt of his weapon then shot him over and over in the gut, for the way Mihawk’s lips parted just so. Breath pumping in and out of him. His eyes locked forward briefly at the empty center of the table. Back stiff straight. “Don’t stay too long here, Benn Beckman.” Says the hawk-eyed man. “Two-hundred-Eighty million beli, is rather tempting.” 

Benn watches Dracule Mihawk, solid black high heels tapping on the floor as he walks to the counter to speak with the waitress. He doesn’t look happy with whatever she tells him, and very soon she’s hurrying up the stairs to fetch her Madam. He’s barely put down his empty glass when Shyarly appears under the draped arches. A scowl on her face fit to rip flesh from cracked bone, pointing one blue-painted finger towards the door of her establishment; but Mihawk appears determined, and simply folds his arms. 

“Sir.” Whispers the green haired waitress to Benn. She’s holding out a silver key with a red ribbon and number “3” written on it. “Your room is just up these stairs on the left. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay, and…” She glances back over her shoulder at the little swordsman slowly growing more and more red about the ears. “…I’m sure things will quiet down this evening.” 

She looked downright terrified, this young mermaid. Benn smiled in what he hoped was a comforting way. Pirates of his caliber are not known for their ‘gentility’. Dealing with women and children certainly not entering into his typical day. “Quiet or loud, either is fine.”

He got up, just then, leaving a few beli notes on the table. Shouldering his duffle and taking up the silver key, Benn makes for the archway stairs – contemplating actually sleeping for the first time in a good long while. This Mako Mermaid looks like she runs a tough house, standing up to little-shrimpy. 

“I know he’s somewhere on this island, Shyarly.” 

“If that is that case, then he will contact you. If he does not – you must respect those wishes.” 

Mihawk’s hands went to his face, rubbing his palms into weepy red eyes and clawing at his short black hair. Beckman’s boots announce his passing for the stairs right in front of the other, and the two share a brief look of utter loathing for each other. A special affection reserved for visceral nemesis. It had just always been that way between them. 

A hand shot out as Benn was about to put his foot on the bottom stair. “You’re staying here tonight?” 

Shrugging off pale fingers, Benn’s frowning. “What’s it to you?” The Madam blew rings of grey smoke into the air, eyes fixed on the two clashing humans standing in her doorway. She didn’t know the dark-haired one at all. His pale skin so strange. He had no hair on his face, but full rich lips distracted from that. After a long and tense moment, the two men withdrew their gaze, and Benn’s long legs carried him up the narrow staircase towards the second floor. 

Finding the right door was easy enough, there were only five on the landing to choose from, and when he inserted the key in the lock he pushed it open without a care. Inside glittered a line of lamp-dials, illuminating a long orangey wall decorated with pale shells. There was a window looking out over Beverly Hills, and the entrance to Coral Straight. Benn drew the curtains over the window, letting the quiet softness of the place soak into his skin and calm down his mind. He felt more than secure in the Madam’s house, and he’d be no pirate if he passed up sleep and a meal. 

Benn sat down on the bed, the bounce feeling bizarre after so long on either hard wooden planking or the odd scratchy hammock. A real bed felt good, and he laid down with his arms outstretched on the quilting, eyes upward on the ceiling. 

Taking a few quiet breaths, a faint sound began from somewhere inside the darkness; a sound of gasping… or of… Benn sat up again sharply, ears pricked. He hears it again. Not very loud, but clear. These walls were very thin, and it wasn’t hard to discern that it came from the wall opposite Benn’s bed, and he got to his feet; pressing an ear to the cool coral surface. 

Sobbing. He could hear someone sobbing. It was a man… and it had to be the redhead. 

Benn backed from the wall, listening to the slight sounds of breath catching; wet noises of winded cries and forced steady breathing. 

“Shanks… Shanks…” It was the blonde, Marco. Benn listened harder. “Shanks, yao. You’re about to fall off the side of the bed.” 

A heavy *Thud rattles the pictures on the wall, and Benn grimaces. That sounded like it hurt a lot… 

“No, yao – don’t puke there.” 

Benn’s pulled open the door to his rooms and banging a fist on the room next to his before he’s realizing what he’s doing. What the fuck is he doing? The redhead was cute, yes. But why has Benn got this ringing in his ears, and a heart on fire?

One half of a board face appears along with a sliver of light from inside the room. Marco quirks an eye at the man he doesn’t know. Obviously a pirate, tall – taller than Marco, and those scars. Benn’s face was arrayed with them, primarily along the left side of his face. Beautiful white scars on already milk-white skin. “Who’re you?” Asks the phoenix. 

“Benn Beckman.” 

“Is that so.” 

“You’re Marco, Phoenix Marco.”

“What’s it to you?” 

Benn considered quickly, at the speed of light even. He needed Whitebeards First Division Commander to leave. Right Now. “Ahg…” Sighed the taller man, shaking his head. “I can’t take you,” he finally said, leaning one shoulder on the doorframe in an effort to peer inside around the blonde. He grins wide. “But I heard you earlier, all-a-scene in front of nobody.”

Marco’s eyes narrowed, glancing back to be sure Shanks wasn’t about to do himself another injury before he’s stepped out onto the landing. He pushes Benn back against one wall. “What do you want, yao?” 

Benn’s palms were up, waiting for Marco to take a step back before he straightens himself. “Nothing you would care to pay. I want you to head back downstairs and let good old Whitebeard know, I’ve got this.” And he’s pointing towards the door Marco’s only just closed behind him. 

At first the First Division Commander is skeptical, eyes flicking rapidly between door and unknown pirate. His mouth opening and closing several times before he’s just looking at Benn. It felt like eons – years. Longer than anyone should have to be allowed to wait for anything, when at last Marco nods his head, making for the stairway instead of the door he’d come out of. Just as he’s about to take the first step down he pauses. “How do you know Shanks?” he asks evenly, glancing back over his shoulder. 

Benn’s chest fills with warmth, the name of the redhead echoing for a few moments before he’s saying the word. Tasting each syllable on the tip of his tongue. 

Marco’s eyes widen again, before his face splits evilly. “Remember something, yao.” He says, waving for Benn to lean in and listen. “About Shanks – he’s not a weak man.” 

Benn Beckman is quite sure blood has never rushed from his head to his belly so fast. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Marco didn’t stay for any longer, his pineapple head fading into the shadows at the base of the stairs before Benn takes in a few deep breaths. It was true, he couldn’t take Phoenix Marco, not one to one. He was realistic of his skills, not eager to die before accomplishing his dreams. Benn puts a cigarillo to his lips, but doesn’t light it. Just the comfort of having the savory flavor on his lips and tongue, breathing it in through his nose – it was what he needed. 

Pushing open the door to Shanks’ room Benn could only describe his stomach as being filled with butterflies made entirely out of razor blades. He couldn’t breathe in enough air, and he’s sure he’s just going to suffocate – when he enters to find the redhead curled on the floor in a sheet, bottle of sake in hand and several other empties on the carpet all around. 

Shanks’ hair is red and silky, hanging down over his face to his chin. He’d run his hands through it several times so that it stuck up at weird angles, tangled up in the short hairs on his face. “ ‘s there?” Shanks’ voice is heady and raw, followed by a few heavy sniffs and the *glugging of whisky funneling through the constricted neck of a glass bottle. Benn watched Shanks drink… and drink… and keep on drinking. The bottle resting on Shanks’ bent wrist slowly emptying until the man is suckling on an empty booze tit. Coming to this conclusion fuzzily that there was nothing more to gain from holding said bottle, Shanks’ arm goes limp and the glass slides down his front to join its fellows on the floor.

Benn’s feet carry him numbly across the room towards the redhead curled there. “I’m Benn.” He says, sitting down on the floor cross-legged and reaching for an unopened bottle of red rum. 

Shanks’ eyes are barely open, between crying and drinking, his face was nearly as red as his hair. “B-e-n-n-n, Na?” he slurs, swaying slightly until Beckman’s put a hand out to steady him. 

“Yea, and who’re you?” the other scoffs, handing Shanks the opened neck of a new bottle. 

Shanks’ fingers wrap around the cool glass, nails tapping out a trail like on brail. He’s staring at his own hand. “Jus’ a cab’n boy.” Whispers the redhead, lifting the bottle and taking down a few swallows. 

Benn reaches for the bottle, taking his time to brush warm digits over Shanks’ trembling fingers, over the back of his hand and wrist before he tips back a few swallows of his own. It was good strong rum. “Got some pretty rough babysitters for being a cabin boy.” 

Shanks gazes at Benn, fuzzy eyes not able to take in much over the fact that there was another body next to his. “I ’ma pretty, hic! rough cab’n boy.” He blends out. 

Smiling brought on a few levels of emotion Benn was not probably prepared for. He’d seen a lot of men smile, for all kinds of different reasons. Shanks’, while forced and wrong, had another layer of deformity that was impossible to overlook. The injury done to the man’s face by what looked like a giant claw. Three long gashes glistened fresh and new on his face. One of them passing through his eyelid. Benn didn’t know if Shanks would ever be able to open that eye in the future – or if it were shut like that simply because of the swelling. “What happened to you?” 

It was immediate, Shanks letting the now empty bottle fall to the floor, “Nothing happened.” He breathed, suddenly very much more articulate. 

Benn stared. Shanks’ eyes steadier than he’d realized. “Huh.” Scoffed the raven haired man. He leans forward, putting a hand around Shanks’ right cheek, thumb brushing over wet lips, red from drinking. “You’re a liar.” 

“On-hic-ly when I have to be.”

Benn smirked, the tips of sharp white teeth peeking up over the rich line of his lips. Tongue coming out to wet them. “Why do you have to lie to me?” he asks, his hand moving from Shanks’ face to his shoulder, and getting to his knees. “You don’t even know me?” Shanks did not object when Benn’s powerful hands came to his shoulders and pushed him back onto the pillows that had been strewn all over the floor. His foot connecting with one of the empty bottles and sending it clinking into the shadows. 

Shanks watched the older with a tender expression, allowing himself to be laid back and touched. Benn’s hands wandered into the folds of Shanks’ shirt and sash, soothing ministrations working the muscle tensed and straining all along his belly and chest. Shanks’ shirt is pushed up, and warm wetness touches his left nipple, enveloping the pert red nub, tonging it and laving. The red haired pirate reaches up to wind his hands in bedding, pulling it towards his face to guard against betraying pants and moans.

“Shanks.” Benn utters, and he does like the way the redhead’s name tastes. 

The tiniest of gasps slips from Shanks’ lips. He’s winding his legs and rolling his hips. Benn buried himself in the other. Smelling of steal and gunpowder and sweat. Shanks’ sash is ripped away by one of them, and Benn’s wedged up in between the other’s knees. It was glorious. Shanks’ pride – red and wide and erect. Already a bit of clear liquid seeped from the tip of Shank’s prick, glistening in the low light cradling them in the dark. Benn hummed happily in his chest. As a man who enjoyed the taste and shape of another man, he had rarely in his life seen so magnificent a specimen; wriggling his fingers into the red patch growing at Shanks’ base, earning a low moan before he’s wrapped his hand around the younger’s scrotum kneading the soft sack as he’s considering just where to taste this handsome prick first. 

“B-e-n-n…” Shanks’ has his head put back, one hand tangled in the other’s long black locks. His knees pull back just slightly, falling open to allow the other better access to him. “Benn.” 

With a steady repetition of his name in his ears, coupled in the same instance with the man’s low gentle moans and unexpected hikes or whines coming involuntarily out of the younger, Benn parted his lips; inviting Shanks’ swollen head in past the tips of his teeth to rest on the pad of his tongue. Shanks’ shudders down to his toes as he’s taken down. Thick phallus circled by an eager tongue before being guided slowly and completely down the man’s open warm throat. Benn swallows him down a few times, the juncture of his throat stimulating the tiny nerve endings along the glans and tickling at his shaft with his tongue. 

Benn watches Shanks’ chest heaving, the picture of Shanks’ head tilted back and arms holding onto him, reaching for him. Fuck, he was gorgeous! Benn tracked the rippling lines on Shanks torso with his grey eyes. The redhead of slighter build than him, shorter by about a foot, and the difference in the size of their wrists?! Benn’s lips slide slowly around the head of Shanks’ prick, tongue pausing to lave slowly at the little lit still crying for attention as he breaks away. 

Shanks has his head resting back on the pillows, both hands on the sides of Benn’s face. He’s still staring at him like he’s not sure exactly who he is. Which, he probably doesn’t, considers the older. But that didn’t bother him. They were both pirates. He wasn’t interested in anything other than the redhead. Better he console him than Marco or Old Man Whitebeard. Benn flattened his palms on Shanks’ belly, rubbing lighting up and down as they stare quietly into each other. Oh yes. Benn didn’t give a shit. He wanted the redhead, and the redhead wasn’t saying no. 

“Benn.” 

With one final slow lick, Benn Beckman got to his knees between Shanks’ legs. After working off Shanks’ remaining clothing, he undid his fly while still fully clothed himself. Pulling himself from the folds of his clothes Shanks doesn’t look away from the older’s eyes. Mesmerized in the dark color of the sea he saw there, in a living person, a living man. Benn’s eyes spot a vial beside the nightstand over his head and retrieves it. The man under him isn’t saying a word, just watching, one visible blue-jade eye watching, lips slightly parted, and Benn wants nothing more than to taste them. 

“Are you ready?” Benn whispers into the redhead’s ear as he’s leaning over him. A lick and nip at the man’s lobe. 

The sound that escapes Shanks is not so much a word as a breathless plea for release. With Benn’s hand returning to his balls, weaving them in and out of the warmth of his fingers, Shanks’ can’t make much of a reply than that. Benn smiles, spreading oil onto his free hand and lifting the other slightly higher. He places a searing kiss to Shanks’ lips, forcing his tongue between the other’s teeth just as he’s pushed two fingers deep into him. Shanks gasps and cries out, low cries before seeming to suddenly settle and roll himself into Benn’s continued shallow thrusts. 

Shanks’ eye closes as he rides the two fingers inside him, rocking with a vigor that surprises and pleases the older far more than he would have thought. He’s working Shanks open, rolling the pads of his fingers along taught inner musculature, taking great care in his earnestness that he doesn’t go to fast. 

“Oh, gods… B-benn…” 

Shanks’ back bowed as Benn slips a third finger in, then a fourth. Opening Shanks up and pouring another measure of oil over the abused muscles. Benn’s teeth pinch down playfully on Shanks’ lower lip, drawing a tiny pin of blood that he’s lapping up, apologetically kissing the spot before nuzzling into the younger’s sweaty neck. Benn takes his fingers from Shanks, taking girth in his hand and slathering his cock with oil; he directs his aching cockhead towards Shanks’ well prepared opening. Pressing himself against the muscle, Benn allows himself a deep breath just as Shanks exhales. He catches Shanks’ breath whole, pulling it into his body as he’s entering into the other man’s.

“Benn~!” Shanks squeaks out, legs coming around to hug the older’s wider hips.. Without warning Shanks has sat forward and draped his arms around Benn’s shoulder, lifting himself up to that Benn’s slid balls deep into Shanks’ quivering hot hole. 

Benn’s gasping, both hands gripping tight to the back of the redhead in his lap. Shoved up to the gills, Benn’s body burns, and he’s only vaguely aware that he’s not directing the motion between them. The younger, rolling his hips as if in time to some music that’s playing, ripping him down from the inside out. His hands come up to hold Shanks still, fingers leaving little red marks on his ass. 

Shanks pouts, trying to roll forward, but only managing much more contact than simply being connected. His eye is on Benn again, and the older just waits. “Shanks.” Benn whispers, another kiss to the man’s red, tear stained face. “What happened to you?” 

“I-I-I…” It was a look of utter loneliness. Separateness. Something deep down and painful and far – FAR too fresh to be ripped open and examined. 

Benn’s hands move back and up, dragging flat nails over the peaks and valleys of Shanks’ smooth back. The younger gasps, falling into Benn as the dark haired man begins to move. Benn beginning a steady, if not a little aggressive pace. Shanks soon matches the other’s efforts, driving himself down harder on the shaft inside him with a look of breathless rapture on his lips. 

Now that was a smile. Benn thought victoriously. He could feel orgasm building in his belly, and he cursed himself for not holding out longer, but just as he’s about to tell the other man so, Shanks’ has come to climax, spirting between their bellies with a long note of pleasure in the back of his throat. That note went inside of Benn, grasping a hold of his heart and setting it absolutely free. Clutching to the convulsing body squirming in his arms, Benn rutted into the warm body of the redhead, listening in suspended in exoticism for the experience of absolutely no fear in the strength of the one under him. 

He came in less than three minutes of pounding hard into the redhead, filling his head with the song of what they were doing. When he had finally come, drawing the blankets down to cover them, Benn wrapped his arms around Shanks, gently wiping tears from the other’s cheeks as they surfaced throughout the night.


	5. Rumors of the Demon's Son

Benn hangs his head over an oak rail. Forearms resting on the solid painted surface. That next day, after he and Shanks’ passionate night together, Benn found out Shanks was Dracule’s lover. Now, when it is said, ‘ _he found out_ ’, what really happened was the little shrimp shoved Benn into the wall of the cafe. Demanding answers with his fingers clamped around his throat, and Shanks putting a sword to the pale white neck of the smaller man.    

“How’s a’ going there, Benn-lad?” Roo’s chewing a piece of gristle like a cow on its cud. Not that manners are a qualifying factor for pirates on the sea.

“Been better. To be honest.” Sighs the taller of the two. Calloused hands slicking over black hair tied at the base of his skull. There are several islands visible on the horizon. Their small peaceful outlines black, for a glowing orange sunset behind them. The ocean undulating with dark water, sharp white-bright reflection of fading sunlight off tall swells.

His bulksome nakama smiling, eyes covered up by those red goggles he wears. “Windmill Village.” Roo’s said, almost romantically. The words long on his tongue. “Rumor puts a Celestial Settlement nearby. The Kingdom of Goa. Not a _charming_ place, for the likes of us, anyway.”

“Where have Pirates been welcomes with open arms anywhere in the Four Blues?” Palms into his face, Benn rubs into thick dark stubble.

“Ha-ha! That’s true!” Ripping off another strip of cured meat.

 

There isn’t allowance to consider that may this _isn’t_ the place. Just like that last dozen or so rocks they’d come and gone from since leaving Raftel. Benn would have rather stay there. Possibly _sated_ with the idea of growing old and dying, gazing down from those tall cliffs over the sea. The solid wall of the Red Line just visible through the haze on a good day. Other days it’s like they weren’t on the face of the earth anymore. A white encirclement of dense fog and low cloud that clung to the approaching waves, off a never ending coastline.

Benn’s fond memories of Raftel far exceed the simple natural beauty of a landscape left so _very_ untouched. Shanks’ decision to leave those virgin white sands, and set back out to sea… it may have been the hardest thing he’s ever done.

 

“I wonder if he’ll look like his dad, the boy.”

Rolling his cigarillo to the opposite side of his mouth, Benn frounds. “Might be kinder to never tell him about the father he’ll never have.”

“You didn’t have one, then?”

“No. He got himself killed before I was even old enough to walk.” Benn’s own mother abandoned him, and eight other siblings not long after. All of them eventually becoming thugs or pirates, but Benn is the last Beckman still making noise on the water.

The tall man’s dark eyes track across the deck. He’s having issues with the sheer size of their new home. Rows of doors below deck, too many to count. About fifty separate living quarters, and honestly they could shove ten into each room if they really had to. He hopes they don’t have to. Clenching his teeth for the scattered noise that rattles along the planking at his feet.

“You’re gonna faint.” Roo’s chuckled. “Breathe deeply, my friend.”

“Too many… goddamn people.” Grumbles the Red Hair’s First Mate.

“Don’t you worry, once we get the right hands, it won’t feel like so many. It’ll be nothing but smooth sailing.”

“ _Once we get the right hands_. How long do you think that’ll take?” Neither of them will guess the horrey of blood thirsty crooks, or pure imbeciles that will come and go from their ship over the next five to ten _years_. If they had guessed, they might have both swum for sanctuary right then and there.

 

 

It took a further two days sailing, watching the little speck of green island get closer and closer. The Red Force, with its blood red sails. Full and glorious, reflecting pink off the ocean as they make approach. Shanks’ mark hung high, flapping in the wind.

“Captain! There are Marine Cruisers West along the coastline!” Calls a scout.

“Marine presence on the lee side, Captain!” Another confirms.

They’re still far away, able to detour or even run, if they must. Though these days, it’s _rare_ for Shanks to _must_ have to do anything. “Turn the ship!” The redheaded Captain’s called, standing out onto deck. He’s tall, three long shiny scars marring his face, and left hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The other hand securely over the fluttering straw hat atop his head. “Thirty degrees!”

Benn’s an arm up, to shield his eyes from the sun. Roo and Yasopp stood with him on the deck below.

“ ‘s a harbor there.” The blonde sniper’s licking his lips. Squinting.

Roo’s got a map in his hands, because he can’t see that far. The Edges catching salted wind and ruffling noisily. “Fifteen miles out.”

“Can’t hardly wait.” He can’t hide the sour note of deep agitation from his voice. Benn’s throat sore for how many rolls of thick leaf he’s smoked his way through.

“Don’t worry, Benn-lad. We must have confidence.”

The clap on his shoulder from his nakama is welcome, and in all honesty comforting. The tall man’s apprehension too tightly coiled. Listening to Shanks’ flapping sandals turn, and go back inside the Captain’s Cabin. If this is the wrong island _again_ , what will happen? Will they search for yet another lead? Another lie? He’s not looking forward to, once again, spoon-feeding reality into Shanks’ lifeless mouth as he stares blankly, and forgets to sleep.

 

 

“Ah! Yes! Yes-yes, here you are!” Paying the dock fee, a fifty beli deposit, Lucky Roo’s peering up and down the peaceful lanes of the little East Blue village he found himself in. Post Office, and a few houses. Small farms dotted the surrounding fields tracked up along the edges of town. Each with a slowly revolving windmill built onto the main structure of their dwellings. Children ran around, barefoot in the grass. Parents in toe. Laughter. So pure, a sound. Something the thick gutted pirate’s not heard for some time.  

 _Not exactly the kind of place they we’re liable to find the son of the most vile demon who’d ever been put to death by the World’s Government_ , the big man’s thinking. Considering the outside of a small establishment near the wharf, _Party’s Bar_ written in lime green letters on a white backdrop. The building itself multiple stories. A set of swinging old-fashioned saloon doors marking the way inside from a wrap-around porch.

 

A long low whistle right next to his ear has Roo turning a cheek. “Will you look at this place? So _wholesome_.” Fingertips flutter on the butts of his pistols. Yasopp’s full of nervous energy, now they’ve come to shore.

“S’right.” Roo’s agreeing, chest-fallen. “Guess that means no brothel.” Wiping a huge fake tear from his cheek. “Shanks and Benn coming, or are they arguing again?”

“Who knows?” The blonde sniper’s looking up the lane. “Just hope we’re good and gone, before some garrison finds our great big ‘ _here we are_ ’ stuffed into this chibi little bay.”

“You worry too much.” Throwing an arm around his nakama’s thinner neck, he’s drug Yasopp along the peer. “Yer one ‘o the Yonko’s crew now! Think ya get to be _scared_ o’ a little bitty fleet come to stop us?”

“They’d need a Buster Call.” The two crewmates quit their roughhousing, Benn come up on them from behind. The corner of the tall man’s thin lip is bleeding, but that might be because he’s sunk sharp teeth into it. Murder in both black eyes, and those fingers latched into his belt are white knuckled and shaking.

“Sa’matter with you?” Roo’s asked, giving room for the other to stalk passed them.

But he’s only ignored the big man. “Go and make sure these _fucking idiots_ don’t rip the sails, tying them up.” Boots on the wood peer scape harshly. Splinters rupturing and falling into the surf for the dark haired man’s ill controlled haki, rolling from his body in angry waves.

Shanks’ appearance, not one moment later. Hot red skin around his eyes, and he doesn’t say a word. Pulling his dark mantle about his body, hurrying up the dock, but turned the opposite way of his First Mate. Yasopp and Roo both look at one another. Shrug of their shoulders, they go back onboard to handle the securing of their vessel for stay. How long a stay, is still yet to be determined.

 

 

On the opposite end of the dock, another small ship puts in. A ragboat, that could do with some paint. The man steering has the most grim of expression on his face, for the cargo placed into his possession. Unexpected. So unexpected, the newly appointed Marine Vice Admiral had not known what to say. Hand clasping around the little fingers of that six-year-old boy smiling up at him. His own grandson.

Monkey D Garp had few options, as he cannot possibly take a young child with him during the course of all his duties in the Navy. He’s no wife, and no other family to take the boy in. Begrudgingly reminded of a place he _could_ take a small child…

“Welcome back, Vice Admiral Garp.” He’d called Mayor Woop Slap over the Den-den the very same hour. “And this is your grandson? My-my, he’s certainly energetic.” The man’s gray mustache crinkles between his lip and nose.

Following the old Mayor, Garp is perceptively aware of how much noise his grandson is making. Attracting attention from other children, parents, even animals… He’s plucked the boy up by the scuff, when he’s suddenly rushed in front of his feet chasing a bunch of harassed chicken. “Behave yourself.” He’s ground out. Grinding blunted teeth together.

“Lemme’ go! They’re getting way!”

 

 

“…yes, well you see. The man who would know… ah! Mr. Garp, Sir!” There’s a tall man with a dark ponytail leaning on the bar. A mug of dark ale in his hand. Makino stand up tall. “This gentlemen was just asking about you. Mr. Beckman, this is Marine Vice Admiral Garp.”

Pirates and Marines can sense each other, almost intuitively. Especially two who have been alive as long as either of these men. “Oh?” He’s still holding onto his grandson’s wrist. The small boy wriggling around trying to pull himself free. “And what would a Pirate want with me?” he leers.

“My captain, actually.” Benn’s paused to light his smoke. The bar maid placing an ashtray at his elbow before bustling into a back room where they hear the clattering of pots and pans. “He’s curious to find a certain child, and we heard _you_ would be the one to tell us.”

“A child?” Luffy’s managed to break out of his grandfather’s grip with a triumphant “ _Yea_!!” rolling head over heels several times, into a table and chairs. Shaking his shaggy black hair in the midst of fallen furniture. Garp’s about to rush forward, when the young bar maid’s come back around the corner of her counter. Providing a gentle nod of her head, she lifts the small boy up into her arms.

“Gol D Roger’s child.” Benn’s set down his empty mug. The Marine’s eyes thrown wide. Red flush rising on his face, and he’s sweating.

“W-who is your captain?”

“Akagami no Shanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!


	6. I'm Luffy!

Makino's gathered the tiny boy to her chest. He's the _second_ young child the Marine Hero has brought into her establishment since she'd taken up management of it. “My-my you are _ticklish~_ ” He's wriggled, and giggled. Tufts of black hair thick on his head, and the brightest of youthful smiles. Plunking him down in front of her, the woman's knelt to his level. “What's you name?” asked kindly.

“I'm Luffy!”

“Luffy, I'm Makino. I run the pub here. Would you like me to make you something to eat?” A long rumble from the boy's little stomach gives his answer, and she's giggling into her skirts.

 

 

 

“Who said you'd find such a person here?”

“Does that matter?” Benn Beckman's tapped the edge of his cigarillo against the dish in front of him. The old Marine standing stiffly. “It is true? Can ya' at least tell me that much?”

Garp ground blunted white teeth behind tight lips. Grey stubble on his face. Admission or denial as to the very _existence_ of Roger's child to a member of the Pirate King's former crew _?!_ “Tell Yonko Shanks to return to the New World. What's he doing wasting time here in East Blue, these weakest of seas?”

Benn's licked his lips. A small chuckle out of a rough and husky throat. “Shanks is the greatest pirate on these many oceans, Mr. Vice Admiral.” Gradually releasing smoke out from his lungs. “The weakest of seas, or the strongest... What does it at all matter, when you are the _greatest?_ ”

 

A swing of hinges, and echoing flap of swinging doors alerts both men to the newest arrival into the pub. Red Hair Shanks himself. The man's dark haired First Mate pivoting himself. To face the bar, and put his back to his captain.

“Monkey D Garp?”

“Yonko Shanks-

“Don't call me that!” Floorboards rattle, as do picture frames all along the walls. In a mighty ripple. “I... I never-”

“Hahaha-!” Tongue stolen right out of his throat, the red haired Captain's jolted by the appearance of a small spinning child. Giggling and running, just out of reach of a pretty young woman with deep earthly black hair tied up under a pale bandanna. She's laughing. Chasing after the child, around and around a table and chairs set up at the end of the bar. “Shi-shi-shi!” Dark, jet black hair... just like Rodger's had been... except _this boy_ is too young. “Hi! I'm Luffy!” Button nose, and big brown eyes. He's holding up a hand to the weather tanned Pirate with thick scars all down his face. Shanks' own hand lowering, as if he's answering some additional greeting. Gripping briefly at soft, young fingers. The child's gone a moment later. Run off again. The Yonko's hand tingling, and he's squeezed a fist to his chest.

“Chance put us here at the same time, Vice Admiral Garp.” How long had this man been just _a Captain_ , just _a Major_? Just _a General_? When he was chasing them relentlessly across the Blue? “If you believe in chance.” Which he doesn't. Not anymore. Unwilling to accept that chance had given the opportunistic Marine Roger's head on a platter, propelling him to further promotion. That there has to be some other force in play to make such a thing happen. With or without reason, because it's too early to tell.

A ringing silence pushes all the air to the corners of the room. The wind outside rattling the swinging doors. Atmosphere zipping hip-high, and the world's about to understand, when...

 

“Vice Admiral Garp, Sir. Your presence has been requested on Orders.” Clean cut, and every button polished with care. Sixteen years old? On East Blue, he probably was.

“Fine. Give me a minute.” Barked at his subordinate, and the soldier's turned and gone. “Ahhh-!” Garp's dragging a handful of fingers through short cropped hair. Getting greyer every day... “Makino.” Walking away from the company of these two Pirates, he's taken the young woman's shoulder. Voice lowered. “I know this is short notice, but can I employ you to look after my grandson?”

“Y-your _grandson_ , Sir?”

“Yes.”

“But... but why is he-?” Luffy's running about the bar stools. Right up to the man with long black hair sitting with his shoulders forward. Smoking a long black cigarillo. The child poking the larger man, demanding to know his name, and where he's from. “Certainly, but when will you return?”

“I don't know, but I'll give you five thousand in advance.”

She knows he'll be back. Business taking him up the hill into Upper Bandit Territory, sometimes three times a year. His own patrol on permanently assigned rotation with the Kingdom Fleets of Goa. “Five thousand.” She agrees. It's enough to feed one child for some weeks, and it wasn't as if all her beds were full this time of year.

 

The Vice Admiral pays. Turns and leaves without saying a single word to the boy who watches the other cross the bar and exit. Swallowed by bright sunshine. Luffy's expression narrowing down, and he's staring quietly, when he'd been so rambunctiously noisy before.

Benn Beckman's glanced down at the kid who'd been chattering near his knee, then up to his captain's blanked out face. Also looking square at the place the Marine had left from. Banging the flat of his hand down on the surface of the bar to startle them both. The pub owner pattering into another room to put away the beli she's just earned. “What are we going to do now?” He's asked Shanks. Crossing one leg over the other and leaning an elbow down. He can see the kid's still watching them talk.

“He didn't give anything away.”

“Nah. He was careful. But his presence here on the island is nearly proof enough.”

Shanks crosses his arms, hugging around his shoulders as he's wriggled his toes in his sandals. They could make a search of the island? Though that would be difficult, and likely cause more issue than it was worth doing. “We'll wait.” Nodding his head, before looking up once again. Fixing the beautiful bar maid with a dopey grin as she's come back out. “I've a... a lot of thirsty idiots, if you'll be willing to entertain them at your tables?”

Makino's grinned, flapping a wet rag onto her bar and wiping it. “These idiots of yours. They _have_ beli?” She's asked, hip jutted out as she's reached into all the corners.

“Of course.” Bows the Pirate Captain, removing a weather-beaten straw hat from his head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) Reviews and stuff and welcome :)


	7. Your Trust, My Anger

“Alright, taking into consideration our crew being of a certain size and... _caliber_.” Lucky Roo is careful, turning around from the table he'd been bent over. Littered with papers. “We'll need fifty million.”

“Fifty?!”   
“Daily.” Roo's clarified. Benn Beckman's shoulders coming all the way off the wall, where he'd been leaning. “And that's assuming they don't damage more than they drink.”

Shanks is reclined in a chair on the opposite side of the room they're in. A small private area off the main galley. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that they had more than one Galley. They'd chosen to hole-up here, as they'd not wished the _whole crew_ to be involved in this discussion. “We have three-hundred million onboard.” It will only buy them six days, if his nakama's calculations were right... which he knows they always are.

“East Blue has been picked well clean, in the last few years.” Roo's lamented sadly. Taking up his hulk of meat, cooked right on the bone. Teeth sinking in, and he's ripped off a great piece of it. “ 'ere's no' a glass bobble 'o be found again,” Swallowing hugely. “Not one beli, from times before...” When Pirates hid vast hordes of gold and gemstones, and drew beautifully detailed maps with red X's.

“There are some treasures left.” Shanks' eyes stare at the ceiling. Left arm hung limp across his forehead, and three days crimson scruff on his cheek. “We left a bit out here, hidden. In East Blue.”

 

 

 

“I'm worried about you, Benn-lad.” The First Mate of the Red Hair Pirates has thick long sleeves on under his mantle. A scowl on his pitted white face. Both elbows the on railing, stood beside his nakama. Waiting for cover of nightfall. “I've never seen you two fight this way. And I'd thought I'd seen it pretty bad that first winter we spent together in Paradise.” Chuckling. Lucky Roo watches the sun going down through red-tinted goggles.

“Not fighting.” Beckman's lit a fresh black cigarillo. Welcoming the savory smoke into his throat and lungs. Exhaling over the calm ocean reflecting back roses from the sky.

“What a liar.” Yasopp's sitting on the deck with his back against their ship's side. Drinking from a jug. “Just don't kill each other before you get back 'Ne? Don't stick us with these lot...” Gesturing sidelong towards the _crew_. Some of them had brains, but on the whole... It might not be a bad idea to try recruiting in the nearby city.

 

Benn and Shanks had been _decidedly_ the ones to go on this little trip. Mission: to retrieve the 'Treasure' their captain said was only a couple days' sail from where they were. Change said treasure for beli, and come back. Decided, by both Yasopp and Roo.

 

“Aw. Benn's not gonna kill the Cap'.” A beefy arm lifting a whole lamb shank to the Pirate's face. Chewing and swallowing before he's continued, elbowing the First Mate in his side. “What is it now? Three years I've been sailing with ya' two? And how long was it before that?”

“Five.” Benn lets smoke out through his nose. Clamping, and then relaxing his fingers against aching palms.

“So it's over eight years now, you two been Lovers on the sea.”

“Y-ya know,” Letting the jug he's drinking from thunk onto the ground beside his knee, Yasopp squinting up at Benn. “I don't think I've seen you two kiss.”

“ 's cause they haven't kissed since they got in this big fight with Dracule Mihawk.”

“Huh? The Greatest Swordsman in the World?!”

“ _Che'-_ ” Benn's reached to take the dark roll of tobacco from his lips. Licking over his teeth. “That shrimp's not the greatest anything.”

 

“Eh-aiy? Oi?! Are we having a meeting?” Mantle clasped over his shoulders, and straw hat on his head. Shanks' grin just visible for the dying light of day.

“No. Let's go.” Benn's not turned around, before he's slung knees up over the rail. A thirty foot drop onto the dock below. And all three of them hear the echo of their nakama's boots on wood planking.

“Weeeew.” Roo's whistled. “I wish you all the Devil's Luck, because you might need it.”

“Ha! Hahaha ha-”

 

 

 

“Benn?” Shanks is just into the small sailing ship he and his first mate will take east. Right between the arms of two Marine houses, one in Shells Town and one in Orange. Keeping in this way, they'll come to the most western edges of the Conomi Islands. A lush, thriving archipelago Shanks remembers. When the crew had made the last stop there, to bury booty and secrets. His nakama already undone the secures, and they're pushing out to sea. The sail letting down, and there's a wind already in it. “Benn-”

“I'm not ready to talk to you yet.” Pulling harder on the rope in his hands. Letting sharp course fibers dig into his palm. To rip at skin, and drive in deeply until warm trickles of blood begin to seep from between the man's fingers. “Shanks.”

 

Still too fresh on his mind.... their most recent argument.

_~~~~~~~~~~~Flashback~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

 

“He's full of shit.” Benn's hissed, fist up against the wall above Shanks' red head. “You _know he is_.”

“What if he's not.”

“Shanks-”

“What if Roger's baby did live. If his son survived-?”

“We found that woman's grave.” Grinding his teeth. Benn's fingernails make lines on the wall. “Remeber. Up on the hill on Baterilla, in South Blue. Portgas D Rouge was dead, Shanks.”

“If she gave birth-”

“Then she'd be alive with her baby. Living happy and free under different names than what you or I'd know. Why else would she be dead? Eh? The Marines found out about her and Gol, and they killed her.”

 

Red Hair Shanks doesn't look back at Benn Beckman, his Frist Mate. His lover. Hands clutching at the fraying edges of a straw woven hat with a blood red band. He doesn't say a word. Barely room to commit in breathing. Clocked minutes snaking by, in which every swirling potential of outcomes have gone far wide of even sustainable facts. Shanks shoving Benn away from him. “We're going!” The world rushing away, in the wake of the Yonko's words.

 

_~~~~~~~end of flashback_

 

Benn's not that pissed they came. Even if choosing to traverse the Calm Belt from Paradise into East Blue ruined their Caravel. The leaking husk they sailed as far as the Gecko Islands. Finally disappearing below blue surf half a mile from the nearest island. It's where they met Yasopp. No. Benn is angry, because the guy Shanks chose to trust and believe over him – his current Lover, was Mihawk. Who is his former. Incensed, all the way to his bones. Benn chews the unlit cigarillo between his teeth. Oils from the tabbacco burning against the side of his tongue. Throwing ropes, and over-tightening the capspan. Neither noticing or caring, when Shanks' sat himself down at the bow. Flapping his straw hat quietly down over his face.

 

Night covering them, as they put out into open water. Completely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are welcome :)


	8. Hardened Pirates

“Another?” Makino's dark leather bodice stretches around her slender body. Accentuating one of the best racks Roo's seen in a good long while. The bar maid bending at her hip to refill the big man's mug with beer the color of wet gold.

“Please, Dear-thing.” Thick chin in his hand, for his admiration of the curve of her back. Bent forward as she's served him. Moving on to Yasopp's half-empty cup next.

“Your Captain is not joining you today?” She's asked with ease. A glitter of her dark eyes, in notice of one of these other Pirates' roaring in laughter. Banging his hand on one of her tables.

“Nope.” Lucky Roo's wound a fist around his mug, and upturned it. Holding it out for her to refill yet again. “But don't worry, I've got beli. You'll be paid.”

 

She's grinned. Makino. Sweat on her brow, sheet of soft black hair pulled under a blue cloth.

 

“ _Shi-shi-shi-shi-shi!_ ”

“ _Aha-! Hahaha!_ ”

 

“He's a lively one, that boy.” Yasopp's leaned back, elbows on the table as they're watching the kid clapping his hands. Stood up on the table in his sandals. Singing with their hired vagabonds. He'd been able to melt them pretty good. That kid. Having him around just might save them a few million beli. “Is he yours?”

“Mine? Gracious, no.” Giggling, The woman's skirts flutter as she's moved behind her bar. Refilling a row of frothy cups, she's also frying ham and chicken in deep pans. Keeping at least one eye on the young boy at all times.

 

“ _Shi-shishishi!_ ”

 

“Ahh!” It's good beer. The Sniper wiping thick foam from a blonde mustache. “Why don't you fill me in, then. Since we have so much time to waste.” Yasopp's turned on his chair. Reaching for his mug. Licking his lips for a herby blend of fermented honey. “This _thing_ going on, between Benn and Shanks. It is gon'ta stop someday, right?”

“Maybe.” Roo's shrugged his shoulders. Rubbing at the places his goggles rested on his cheeks. “I'm sure Benn's been asking himself a lot lately... Just why he's stuck around this long...”

“Beginning!” his nakama's begged. Swung his legs up, and crossing both boots up on the table. Pulling a cork from a bottle of Sake.

 

Roo grins to himself. Stripped shoulders rolled forward. He laces thick fingers. “Well, I'll tell ya what I know.” Taking the bottle as it's passed to him. “But from the beginnin'... before I joined up with 'em spitting love birds.”

 

~~~~~~~ _Flashback~_ ~~~~~~~

 

“Oi! You there! You! Tall, dark, and brooding. I can fix ya something to make ya' smile.”

“Sorry, friend. Just passing through.”

“Eh?! We all of us passing through. Don't be turning down a good deal until it's offered. It's bad manners.”

“I'm a vicious Pirate.” Benn Beckman's leered at the shorter, stockier man. Down that dark alley. Goggles over his eyes, and more than thrice his width. “I'm warning 'ee. I ain't got good manners.”

“Oh? What a coincidence.” And pistol is drawn from behind a fold of green fabric. Three barreled, and pointed for the Pirate's chest. “Swindlers also, have no need of 'em. Manners, that is.” His name is Lucky Roo. Lucky, because he can get _anything_ in the world, in any way he wants to. Luck is always on his side.

“Is there a problem here?” The second guy's come up out of nowhere. Also a little taller than Roo, but he's lazy sounding. Swaying side to side, as if he'd been drinking. An empty bottle slides from the man's fingers, clanking into the gutter of the road.

“No problem here, Captain.” Benn turned his shoulder, and began walking away up the road.

“Oi-” Excpet lady luck was not on Roo's side that day. Under that yellow blaze of sunshine. Not on his side. Eyes spun, and he's crumpled to the ground. Half his vision gone, but able to see two sets of feet wander away. One in boots, one in sandals.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _end of flashback_

 

“Bahahaha! Ya' tried to _rob_ Benn? Ah-hahah!”

“I was less of a man, in those days.” Great big smile on his face, tucking in to a plate of chicken legs placed on their table. “I'd lived on San Faldo all my life up to then. Nothing much to say about a town like that. Nice fat wallets on soft weak pigs. One of the Four Pirate Emperors decides to drop by. Just wandering around. How was I supposed ta know I'd marked out a freaking Yonko's _girlfriend_.”

“Benn will kill you, if he hears you calling him that.” Yasopp's bubbled into his beer. Taking another long drink.

“Ah, nah. We've an understanding, now.”

“Must have. They took you with them. How _did_ that happen? And I thought you were going to tell me about this fight they're having?”

“I'm getting there. Getting there.”

“Well, get there faster.”

 

Not that they have a deadline, a plan... or anything resembling either. The Blonde's stratched at his dreadlocks. Sharp eyes nonetheless keen for his eighth bottle. Noticing there are no citizens from the island in the bar with them. None that Yasopp can see. The woman's only patrons are the Red Hair Pirates. Likely, that she's told all her regulars to steer clear. As is often with Pirates in large numbers. Fights ensue. Only...

 

“Shi-shi-shi-shi! Again! Again!” Ruckus laughter, and boots stamping on the floor. Another roaring chorus of Binks' Sake. Nobody ever got tired of it. The little black haired boy sitting on one of those grizzled Pirates' laps. Laughing right out of small lungs. Face bright enough to light up the dark bottom of the blue ocean.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) Reviews are welcome :)


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